


Interlude

by crookedcrown



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedcrown/pseuds/crookedcrown
Summary: Death greets them like old friends.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 41
Kudos: 296





	1. Joe and Nicky

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re unfamiliar with Discworld Death, here are a few things worth noting: His pronouns are always capitalised and he communicates in ALL CAPS because he has no vocal chords. He is not tied to any religion. He simply accompanies people in the transition from life to death. He finds humanity deeply fascinating but is often baffled by it.

HELLO, JOE.

A startled gasp, followed by coughing. The actions are pointless here, but Death understands that it takes a little time for everything to catch up no matter how many times they have been here before.

IT IS STILL JOE, CORRECT?

Joe lifts a hand like he wants to wipe his mouth, but seems to recognise the gesture to be futile and lowers it again. He pushes himself into a sitting position and nods. But he is distracted, eyes darting, searching. Another shuddering breath and Death sees the relief ripple across Joe’s face when Nicky appears beside him.

“Hello, Death.” Nicky says, once he has had a moment to cradle Joe’s face in his hands, to kiss Joe’s cheeks, his forehead, his lips. It goes like this. “It has been a while, no?”

MAYBE FOR YOU.

Joe chuckles and He is pleased Joe seems to appreciate His efforts to be more conversational. He doesn’t get to practice with the same audience often. Quynh and Andromache have certainly been less receptive to his attempts.

He has come to look forward to their meetings. The first time - what was it, the 11th century - had been _highly_ unusual, to say the least. Yes, he had returned souls before, but, in all his existence, Death had never had two souls stand before Him, and it has never happened since. Humans could still surprise Him, even after all this time. Death found He liked that.

He had understood immediately that this was something truly remarkable at work, and way above His pay grade . But humans were always slower on the uptake and it had taken many more times of them killing each other before they started to consider, perhaps, there was more to this then a simple test from their Gods.

Over time, Death had observed their fear and hate simmer into begrudging respect, bloom into fondness and affection, and finally into something much, much more. Something the human languages, in all its limitations, were still yet unable to identify, let alone adequately name. He thinks love is the closest, but it still falls woefully, embarrassingly short of what Death sees before Him now. Hands clasped, heads bowed together. Sometimes, Death has to look away.

The times when they appear alone are always...difficult. The agony in their eyes, the fear and desperation. _Please_ , they beg, _I cannot go without him. Please_ , they cry, _do not leave him alone_. Before Death has a chance to tell them, again, gently, it is not your time. They collapse in weary relief and gratitude in which Death is undeserving. It is not His decision to make. But if it were...

It is in those moments, He wished he could do more, wished He had the words to comfort. But Death has no answers. And the least He could do is not lie to them.

Time moves differently here. A handful of minutes can be spun into an eternity. He holds onto it a little longer for them, a respite from the pain of living and losing, and living again.

They both turn to Him. They are ready.

“See you soon, then” Joe grins at Him. Nicky turns his face into Joe's shoulder and huffs a laugh, his hands fisted in his shirt, like he is afraid to let go. They are absurd, ridiculous, magnificent creatures.

Death can only nod, a phantom ache in where He imagines His heart would be.

When they are gone and Death is left alone - and maybe it’s the human sentimentality that stems from witnessing, over and over, such beauty and such pain, the futility and the bravery - He finds himself hoping, not too soon.


	2. Quynh

Quynh is silent. She had long since stopped screaming (“Are they still looking for me? Is _she_ still looking for me? Tell me!”), begging (“Please end this. I cannot bear it. Please.”), weeping (“She forgotten me.”).

She lays so still now, barely blinking, waiting to return to her iron coffin in her watery grave.

The fear, the rage, and the pain in her eyes have worn away to a glassy emptiness, and then hardened.

“When I get out of here,” her voice is soft, Death has not heard it in over a century, “I will bring you their heads. I will tear it from their bodies however many times it takes. I swear this to you.”

It is worse than the silence.


	3. Booker

“I have done something awful.” Booker in death is unlike Booker in life. Here he confesses his transgressions, seeking an absolution Death cannot give.

YES.

“You judge me?”

I BEAR YOU NO JUDGEMENT. BUT I ASK YOU THIS, DO YOU THINK THE IDLE HANDS OF MORTAL MEN WILL GIVE YOU THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK?

Booker smirks. “You should know better than most, what men are capable of.”

IN SUFFERING, YES. BUT ONLY I SHOW YOU THE WAY, WHEN IT IS YOUR TIME.

“And when is that?” He snaps

WOULD IT SOOTHE YOU, SÉBASTIEN, IF I INDEED HAD THE KNOWLEDGE AND WERE WILLING TO PART WITH IT. IF IT WERE ANOTHER THOUSAND YEARS, WOULD YOU FIND PEACE IN THAT?

A broody silence, then a tired sigh. “I grow weary of you, Death.”

THAT IS A SHAME, AS WE WILL CERTAINLY MEET AGAIN.

The bark of laughter that follows is hollow and sharp.

Death watches Booker wake with a wet gasp, watches as he leans into Andy’s touch, laughs with her, all the while he betrays her. 

Death knows there will be pieces of humanity that He will never understand, that will always remain elusive because He does not know what it’s like to live and thus will never truly know what men are capable of.


End file.
